


Constant Isn't Consistent

by GordandV



Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Canon isn't consistent so I substitute with my own, Gen, Lazarus Pit Headcanons, Whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-14
Updated: 2019-07-29
Packaged: 2020-06-27 21:47:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,350
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19798423
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GordandV/pseuds/GordandV
Summary: “Are you stupid?”“I’ve been told I have the capacity for impulsive decisions.”





	1. Important Enough

**Author's Note:**

> The Lazarus Pit is constantly used in so many different mediums, but it's never consistent in how it works so... headcanons and fanfiction it is.

**Important Enough**

_When something is important enough, you do it even if the odds are not in your favor. –Elon Musk_

Nightwing lets his hand fall against the pile of rubble he’s propped up against. A few pieces of damp rock tumble down into the shallow, dirty water he’s sitting in. The tiny ripples are disturbed when Red Hood, with a loud groan, manages to dislodge a large slab of limestone which topples over with a splash and quickly overtakes the ripples with a small wave. A few other pieces from the collapsed tunnel shift, and Red Hood wisely backs away until everything settles. He leans his shoulder hopefully against a different section of debris, but nothing moves. He hangs his head, helmet long gone, and takea a few seconds to try and catch his breath as he braces both arms against the wall. Despite the chill in the air, his sleeves are rolled back and sweat drips down his face.

“Glad I have a big, strong man here with me,” Nightwing says. He means it as a joke, but the words come out weak and stuttered.

“For _fuck’s_ sake,” Jason swears as he lifts his head to look at Nightwing. He closes the distance between the two of them in five big steps, crouches, grabs Dick’s wrist, and forces the rebreather over his face. “Keep that on, dumbass. There’s who knows what type of gases down here, and your lung is punctured. You need all the oxygen you can get.”

Dick’s grip starts to shake around the plastic seconds later, and Jason carefully cups his face and lifts. Jason had all but ripped the domino mask off after the cave-in so that he could get a proper look at Dick’s eyes without the lenses in his mask distorting anything. The flashlight propped up between some rusted rebar and pile of rubble is just more than enough to see by, and Jason can’t help but frown as he eases Dick’s head back against the wet, grimy wall. Dick closes his eyes almost immediately and then drags them open to mere slivers when Jason tugs off his own gloves and then goes for the hidden zipper he knows is by Dick’s forearm.

“You’re color isn’t good,” Jason says as he goes for Dick’s wrist with two of his fingers. He’s not someone who likes to sugarcoat bad news, but he knows Dick would want it straight anyways. “And you’re looking a bit glazed.”

“Like a donut?”

Jason rolls his eyes and glances at his watch. “Sure. Like a donut.” He doesn’t even bother to mention that Dick’s breathing has gone all types of abnormal and his rapid heartrate has only gone up. He eases Dick’s good hand back onto his lap and frowns when Dick shivers, a full body head-to-toe spasm that sends more ripples racing across the dark water.

Dick seems almost ashamed. He avoids eye contact and tucks his legs up against himself in an effort to keep warm. He shivers again.

“Shit.” Jason turns his head, looking for a spot out of the water. Everything’s got a wet sheen on it, so he just settles for pulling his leather jacket off and settling it over Dick’s front in a mock imitation of a blanket.

“Such a gentleman,” Dick murmurs before his eyelashes begin to flutter. “’m really tired.”

“You can close your eyes for a few minutes,” Jason says before standing up and heading for the other side of the tunnel and second cave-in. “Just don’t fall asleep.”

“Mhm-hm.”

“I mean it,” Jason warns as he leans his shoulder up against a boulder and is rewarded with a groan. “I’ll be back in five to make sure your eyes are still blue.”

Dick snorts gently. Jason returns to the debris and finds everything stuck firmly in place; he’s moved everything he can by hand at this point, and no more pushing or pulling will change that. He runs a hand through his hair, feels his white streaks get glued against the side of his temple with sweat, and then glances at Dick. He and Nightwing had been lucky; the bad guys’ bombs to collapse the tunnel had malfunctioned, and now they’re stuck in a perfectly stable pocket. Sure, Dick might still die from his injuries and Jason still runs the risk of suffocating, but at least they haven’t been crushed. They’re buried, yes, but Jason has room to work, and that’s good enough for him even if they’re too far underground to get any type of signal out.

“Jason.”

Jason whips his head around at Dick’s quiet plea. The jacket is lopsided on Dick’s front from where he’s dropped his arm and accompanying mask.

“I will strap that to your fucking face,” Jason threatens as he kneels down in the water. “Be straight with me; can you hold that up and keep a seal or not?”

Dick shakes his head. He’s breathing hard, mouth open, eyes shut, and Jason grabs the flashlight and leans it against Dick’s hip.

“Shit.” The light is far from flattering, but there’s a clear tint of blue on Dick’s lips. “You’re dying,” Jason notes. It’s not meant to be a cruel remark, a twisted joke that Dead Robin is making. It’s just a fact. “Man, fuck that.” He sits Dick up, straps the rebreather to his face, adjusts his coat, and then stands up. “Like _hell_ I’m getting buried alive again.”

He goes for his helmet and then returns to Dick.

“Hey, Golden Boy. You alright with me trying to get us out?”

Dick’s brown knit together. “What the hell have you been doing for the past hour?” he manages to gasp out.

“Let me rephrase: you okay with me trying to get us out, and if I fail, we both die?” Jason says.

He can see Dick’s arms shift beneath his coat, no doubt to try and ease the ache in his chest. “Do it.”

“You sure?”

Dick nods once. “We can’t wait for the cavalry forever.”

Jason picks up Nightwing’s domino. It’s damp, but the tape on it is still sticky. “Might want to cover your eyes for this,” he says.

Jason all but sits himself in Nightwing’s lap once the mask is back in place. Dick’s wheezing and barely conscious, but he makes an effort to open to his eyes when Jason leans their foreheads together.

“Any last words?” Jason jokes.

Dick just shakes his head; even if he wanted to, he’s too breathless. He just pushes back, hopes his “I love you” comes across from where their clammy foreheads are touching, and then closes his eyes tightly. He feels Jason lean over, brace himself against the wall, and then he hears a faint click. Something begins to beep in the distance, and then Jason’s arms go around Dick and hold him tight. Jason’s clearly shielding Dick, and Dick can feel Jason tense milliseconds before something explodes.

It takes Dick more than a few minutes to realize that he’s floating in water and not drugged. There’s a hand supporting him between his shoulder blades and behind his knees, and there’s a gentle rush in his ears due to the fact that his face is just barely above the waterline. The water is warm, just bordering hot, and Dick has to resist the urge to simply dunk himself.

“Hey, easy, easy.”

Jason’s voice is clear despite the water in Dick’s ears, so Dick can only assume Jason is close and the one holding him. Dick lifts his head a bit, and he feels Jason shift his grip a bit in order to let him sit up.

“You’re okay,” Jason says in his gentle voice that Dick has only heard him use with scared kids and animals. “Easy, easy…”

Dick feels wrung out, exhausted to the bone and almost achy like he has the flu. He can breathe clearly which normally wouldn’t be alarming, but Dick distinctly remembers starting to suffocate due to a punctured lung. He leans his cheek up against Jason’s chest and wonders where they’re at where Jason can get that deep in hot water. It smells a bit like sulfur, slightly reminiscent of a hot spring, but there’s still a chill in the air.

“‘m so tired,” Dick admits while Jason keeps up his crooning. He feels like he could just… float away.

“I’m going to ask you to do something you’ve probably never heard anyone ask you to do before,” Jason murmurs. “Swallow.”

Dick’s loose fist flops against Jason’s chest.

“This isn’t some pervy thing,” Jason continues, and much to Dick’s surprise, he doesn’t laugh. “I do actually need you to swallow. On three.”

Dick nods.

“One… two… three…”

Jason kneels, and Dick’s head goes under. Jason lets him go, and Dick inhales. Both feet hit the ground and he comes up sputtering, wide awake, and then opens his eyes.

“What did you _do_?” Dick demands as gold water trails out the side of his mouth.

They’re in a cavern of some type, and he and Jason are chest-deep in a pool of water that’s more yellow then green, glowing softly like molten lava.

“What do you think I did?” There’s an edge to Jason’s voice as he heads for the nearest lip of rock and hauls himself out so that he can sit with his boots in the water.

“I think you used your helmet to try and blast us out, and we wound up in a Lazarus Pit,” Dick accuses.

Jason dips his hand into the water and then makes eye contact with Dick. Despite the low light, Jason’s eyes look more green than normal.

“I _know_ you know what a Lazarus Pit looks like,” Jason says as he holds his hand up and turns it. Water trails down his wrist. “I also know you’re not colorblind. Does this look like a magical bubbling pit of green death?”

“Well, no…” Dick turns slowly. “This looks like a magical slightly less bubbling pit of yellow death.”

Jason rolls his eyes and waits for Dick to sit beside him before speaking. “This is what a Lazarus Pit looks like before all the crazy seeps into it. And I know you’re already asking yourself, self, why not use this golden pool full of mysterious elements that doesn’t cause a person to go insane with rage instead of the green one? Well, the effects don’t last forever. It’s a sort of temporary Lazarus Pit.” Jason pulls his feet out of the water. “Not useful if you’re just going to drop dead in twenty minutes later from the injury that initially offed you.”

“I’m…” Dick puts a hand on his chest. “I’m… I died?”

“Not quite.” Jason stands up, slicks his hair back with both hands. “If you have medical attention once this wears off, you’ll live. The fall busted me up a bit, but I’m nowhere near as bad as you were. Are.”

It’s cold out of water, and Dick’s suit is too busted up to offer much protection from the temperature. He slips back into the water, ducks his head back to get his hair wet, and then sinks up to his chin. Dick slowly looks around. He can see a pile of rubble where he and Jason busted through the floor. Water continues to trickle down in a steady drip-drip-drip from above.

“And how exactly are we supposed to get out of here?” Dick asks.

Jason just points a single gloved finger up at the ceiling. “The way we came. My helmet should have cleared that pocket, or at least the part we couldn’t get past. Well, one part. But, before that…”

Jason heads back to the faintly glowing pool and kneels down on one leg at the ledge. He peels a single glove off and then runs his knuckles against a rough patch of rock until he’s bleeding. He dips his hand into the water and then pulls it back; the skin scabs over and then heals almost instantly.

“Let’s see how long this actually takes to start bleeding again,” Jason says. “It might be a better idea for you to wait here until I get topside.”

“Why?”

“Because if this starts bleeding in the next two minutes, boy, do I have bad news for you when we get five feet down the tunnel and then suddenly you can’t breathe and we don’t have Pit water on hand for your insides.”

Dick frowns. Jason pulls his glove back on and holds his hands up.

“You know I’m right. Look, I’m just saying it’s probably smarter to have me make sure I can get out in one shot and have a stretcher waiting for your ass when it finally-”

Jason gets cut off by a sudden rumbling, and Dick goes under when a rock the size of his fist nails him just above his left eyebrow. There’s a burst of blood in the water, and Dick’s only out for a few seconds before he stands back up with a strangled gasp. One hand goes to his head.

“Did that… did that just kill me?” he demands in shock while the cavern continues to shake.

Jason already has a hand out, and Dick takes it so that he can get pulled out. “You’d better hope that only gave you a concussion, Golden Boy, because the role of zombie has already been filled.”

Dick heads for the opening he and Jason had fallen through, dodging rocks as he goes; for the moment, he feels good. Great, even.

“What are you doing?” Dick shouts as he flips himself through a sudden downpour of rubble and catches Jason kneeling beside the pool with both hands in the water.

“Fuck off and run!” Jason retorts. “You had better have a grapple ready by the time I get to you!”

Dick does, and Jason launches himself at the older vigilante who’s already got his feet off the ground. Jason manages a hold around Dick’s waist that’s bound to bruise, but they make it safely back to the tunnel which continues to collapse on one end, but apparently the tremors have been enough to clear up the other side.

“It’s almost a waste,” Dick says as he and Jason haul ass down the tunnel into unknown territory.

“What is?” Jason demands.

“The Pit.”

“You mean the thing that’s only pretending to give life, or the one that does actually give life with a hearty helping of uncontrollable rage?”

“I didn’t-”

“Shut up and run.”

They wind up at a clearly out of use stairwell. But despite the rust and missing handrails in places, the metal seems mostly hale and whole. Nightwing starts up first and pauses at the fifth landing.

“I hope we’re not too far underground,” he jokes.

“And why’s that?” Red Hood demands; his ankle is twinging from the earlier fall, and he’s not looking forward to any amount of climbing.

“Chest’s already starting to feel a bit tight,” Nightwing admits. “And a little sore.”

“Damn it.” There’s not enough room to get a grapple up anywhere. Hood barges past Nightwing and then stops and bends over a bit. “Come on.”

“Excuse me?” Nightwing says with a big blink that’s thankfully concealed behind his domino.

“Get on.” Hood looks over his shoulder and motions with his thumb. “That tight feeling is only to get worse, and I’d rather you not fall down fifty fucking flights of stairs. That, and you should focus on just breathing instead of putting one foot in front of the other. Let me worry about that.”

Nightwing hesitates for only a moment before putting his foot on the guardrail and getting onto Red Hood’s back. He loops both arms around the younger man’s front and then tries to keep himself from touching too much of Jason.

“Might as well get comfortable,” Red Hood says with a sigh as he looks up into the gloom and gets his hands settled under Nightwing’s legs. “Looks like we got quite a ways to go.”

Nightwing starts to pass out some twenty odd minutes later. His head hurts, and he just manages to murmur enough to Red Hood to get him to stop on a landing, get Nightwing off his back, and prop his up against a stretch of damp rock.

“Hey, hey, look at me,” Hood snaps. “I will rip that damn domino off your face; you passing out from the head wound or because you can’t breathe?”

Nightwing just points to his head; he can feel blood oozing from the wound above his eye. “Breathing’s getting kind of hard, too,” he admits; he can only hope his one lung isn’t filling with blood.

“Fuck.” Hood fiddles with his own communicator and then with the one of Nightwing’s wrist; still too far underground to get a signal out. One hand goes his hip and gun holstered there, and the other tucks into his coat. “You think we’ll light up if I light something?” he asks.

Nightwing shakes his head and brings up a small holographic screen; no flammable gases detected.

“Right. Head down, Big Bird.”

Nightwing drops his gaze to the grate he’s sitting on, but the sudden flare of red light glints off the metal and surrounding wet walls; Hood’s set a flare off, and Nightwing coughs a bit as the smoke settles around the two of them.

“Head up,” Red Hood instructs, and Nightwing tips his head back. “This might sting. Might not.”

Nightwing is fully prepared for the burn of alcohol or sting of peroxide when Hood opens a flask over his eye, but it never comes. In fact, Nightwing feels more alert than he has in a while, and all the pain in his head disappears.

“Drink.”

Nightwing gets half of the contents down his throat before Red Hood pulls it away. Breathing is almost immediately easier.

“We have about fifteen more flights, give or take,” Red Hood says before taking a short swig.

“What did you give me?” Nightwing asks as he feels for his head injury with his gloved hands and encounters nothing.

“Pit water. Won’t be effective after another hour or so out of the source, but it’ll do the trick for now.” He stretches his arms and back and then offers his hands to Nightwing. “Better make this count, Wing,” Hood says he pulls Nightwing to his feet. “You got maybe fifteen, twenty minutes of health before you’re back to square one.”

“Let’s race,” Nightwing says.

Nightwing has to laser through the hinges on the door at the top of the stairwell that have rusted shut. Rood Hood busts through it via full body tackle. They’re in a new tunnel, wet and smelly and strewn with garbage, but there’s a hint of daylight at one end.

“Sent an emergency signal,” Red Hood says as he loops one of Nightwing’s arms around his shoulder. “You still good?”

Nightwing’s fading fast; a cut’s opening up on his head, and Hood can hear him stating to wheeze. But Nightwing offers a thumbs up, manages a few more feet, and then stops.

“Okay, okay,” Hood soothes. “Nice and easy.” He settles Nightwing against the wall and pulls the flask. He shakes it a bit. “Calvary is on its way. Think you can hold on a little longer and we save this for later?”

Nightwing nods, grabs onto the flask with a grip that worries Red Hood, and doesn’t fuss when the rebreather gets strapped back on his face.

“You get to hold that, I get the penlight laser,” Red Hood says. “You stay right here. I’m going to work on those bars.”

Hood thinks they might be in an old service tunnel that hasn’t been in use for years given the bars on the opening and stairwell. There’s no lock to pick, so Red Hood starts lasering through the bars. He’s made a big enough gap for himself and Nightwing to get through when a message patches through to his com.

“ETA ten minutes.”

“Hear that?” Red Hood asks with a smile as he turns around. “Ten m- What are you doing?”

Nightwing’s going after the mask with one hand. He pulls it away from his face and Jason swears when a whole bunch of blood just… drips out. Nightwing’s mouth is covered in it, and more’s pooling at the chin of the mask.

“Nightwing doesn’t have ten minutes,” Red Hood snaps into his com before snatching the flask and undoing the cap. He pulls the mask entirely off and then notices the nosebleed. That’s not good. “Swallow, slowly.” He rolls his eyes at the confused questions. “Not directed at any of you. Mind your damn business and get here quicker.”

Red Hood has to press the flask up against Nightwing’s lips for him to drink, and the first sip comes back up as a spray of blood and water.

“Easy,” Hood coaches as he pulls the flask back, tips some of the water into his hand, and then smears it as best he can against Nightwing’s head. “I don’t care if you inhale this into your lungs, but you have to get some of it down.”

He waits for the sputtering and coughing to die down before trying again.

“Don’t chug it,” Hood says. “Just stick your tongue in it and swallow; we need this to last as long as possible.”

Nightwing cracks a smile a few minutes later when Red Hood starts to gather him in his arms. “Big strong man going to carry me across the threshold?”

“Big strong man would drop you headfirst if you weren’t concussed,” Red Hood replies. “Hold tight, princess.”


	2. Afraid of Doing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A sort of sequel to “Important Enough.”

**Afraid of Doing**

_Sometimes what you’re most afraid of doing is the very thing that will set you free. –Robert Tew_

Red Hood tastes dust and dirt on his tongue. Cold, damp air snakes down his throat to his lungs. He’s pinned in place by something heavy, and the Y-shaped scar on his chest tingles. He starts to panic, determined to climb out of his damned coffin a second time no matter what it takes, but he splits his already cracked helmet further when he tries to sit up and bashes his head against something much harder than velvet and wood. The immediate pain in his head forces him to stop, just for a moment, and that’s enough.

“Hey, you’re okay,” comes Red Robin’s voice which is all types of calm and gentle. “You’re fine.”

Hood can’t help but continue struggle. It’s hard to breathe. “I can’t move,” he gasps out. “Why can’t I move?” That comes out more as a whimper.

“One of The Ventriloquist’s goons set off a bomb by accident during their getaway,” Red Robin continues. He stops to cough. “The building came down on us.”

“Why can’t I move?” Hood repeats with a desperate whine as both hands push up. It’s dark. Dark and cold and smells like wet earth. “I can’t move!”

“You’re pinned under a support wall,” Red Robin says. “It’s still in one piece. Hold on, I think I have some glow sticks.”

Red Hood hears plastic crack and sickly yellow light bleeds out from his right. That alone is enough to quell the remaining panic.

“Thanks,” Hood says with a relieved sigh. He’s still shaking and sweaty, but his body’s immediate fight or flight response is done and over with. He’s got enough wits now to actually see what type of mess he and Red Robin are in. “Shit, the building came down on us?”

“Mhm-hm.”

The wall is heavy, impossible to move at his current angle, but it doesn’t seem to be suffocating him, so Red Hood can only guess there’s some debris somewhere around him keeping him from being crushed.

“We were lucky,” Red Hood says as he wiggles his arms up to his head and manages to peel apart the rest of his helmet which has done its job and saved him from some serious head damage that would have most likely killed him.

“Speak for yourself,” Red Robin says with a huff, but it’s weak and shaky. Lacking the usual spunk and bite that accompanies that Tim Drake’s sarcasm.

Hood only has a few inches to work with, but his turns his head to the right in the direction of the glow sticks. Red Robin’s only an arm’s length away from him, covered in rubble and debris and spread out flat on his back, but it quickly becomes apparent why he hasn’t moved; there’s a piece of thick rebar stuck through his side. The tip of the bar is soaked in blood and twisted into a gentle curve like a candy cane. Red Hood follows the metal through Red Robin’s side and then notices that it’s still firmly attached to the piece of wall Red Robin is on.

“Oh, shit. Replacement…”

There’s no way in hell Red Robin’s moving anywhere soon.

“I’ll be okay,” Red Robin offers with a crooked smile. “I think it glanced off the side of my hip bone; it’s in the fleshy stuff, not my organs.”

Red Hood can see that he’s sweating beneath his hood and shivering already. “Small favors then. You get an emergency signal out while I was napping?”

“Affirmative.”

“And?” Hood demands.

“We’re going to be here a while,” Red Robin admits. “That building that came down on us? Apparently used to be built over old access lines. Old access lines. Like really old access lines from the 1800s. We’re down like five stories or something according to my tracker. Oracle called in SAR.”

“Search and Rescue?” Red Hood repeats. “Fuck.”

“She doesn’t want to risk anything else coming down on top of us,” Red Robin continues with a cough.

“You good?”

“Dust in my throat.”

“Don’t lie to me,” Hood snarls. “You tell me right fucking now how you’re feeling. I can’t tell what’s blood and what’s water in this light.”

“I’m alright,” Red Robin says. “For now.”

“Come on, I ain’t no Bat,” Hood says with a grin. “I’m also no Nightwing, but give me something to work with.”

Red Hood can hear Red Robin inhale deeply and exhale shakily. “It hurts,” he admits with a whimper. “Really, really hurts. I don’t think I’m bleeding out, but breathing hurts. It pulls every time I take a breath.”

“Ah, shit…”

“I’m going to need a tetanus booster,” Red Robin adds with a watery laugh.

“Hey, I’ll get one with you,” Hood promises. “Have any embarrassing stories about Robin or Nightwing to share?”

“I think we’re alone enough that we don’t need codenames,” Red Robbin says, but there’s an edge to his voice that suggests he wants something. What, Hood doesn’t know. “And no, I don’t.”

“Well, Tim, I do,” Jason offers. “It’ll help pass the time.”

Jason stops trying to wriggle himself out when he starts rubbing through his clothes and all his straps start to chafe against him; he’s settled on what seems to be a rock floor, so he can’t even try to dig himself out. The glow sticks are dying, and Jason debates getting Tim or himself to crack a few more.

“You good, baby bird?” Jason asks.

Tim, understandably so, has been quiet. Offered a few snorts of quiet huffs at Jason’s stories, but he hasn’t added or commented much. Jason knows it’s because he’s in pain, but, even so…

“Hey, I’m talking to you,” Jason snaps.

Tim’s got one hand across his stomach and other up by his head. He’s trembling. “‘m okay.”

“Don’t sound okay,” Jason huffs. “What’s up?”

“I think I’m… I’m cold. But I’m hot.” Tim shakes his head a bit. “I don’t know. My feet are wet.”

“Same here.” Jason isn’t sure how fast infection can set in, but he’s willing to bet that and shock are playing a factor. “Probably cracked a wall or two when all this came down. Busted some pipes. But it’s coming in slowly, so at least we don’t have to worry about drowning.

“Lucky us,” Tim jokes.

Oracle’s in their comms minutes later with reassurance that SAR is trying to shift as much debris as they can to get to the pair.

“Stop, stop, stop!” Jason shouts when he hears debris shift and he’s suddenly wet and cold up to the tops of his ankles when he had only been at his feet moments ago. “Stop! They broke something!”

“Jay…” Tim’s lying in a puddle of water now.

The pair must be on a slope, and Tim’s clearly on the downhill.

“He’s going to drown,” Jason says hurriedly. “And don’t tell me to get him a rebreather; he won’t be able to keep that thing in his mouth for more than a few minutes.”

There’s no reassurance that the team is working as quickly as they can that will calm Jason down; he and Tim need to get to higher ground ASAP. Jason goes for more glow sticks just to make sure he and Tim can see, and he flinches when he cracks them one-handed and they turns bright green.

“Fucking hate that color,” Jason mutters with a shudder.

“The Pit?” Tim murmurs with almost sympathy.

“I can’t even get green slushies anymore,” Jason admits. “They piss me off. But it’s only slushies; green Gatorade is still okay. And so is-“ Jason stops short. “You smell sulfur?”

Tim only manages a half shrug. He’s clearly exhausted and fading fast now that he’s lying in water which is no doubt sucking whatever body heat he has left and desperately needs to combat the shock. “It’s Gotham, Jason. We’re lucky it’s not sewage.”

“Shut up.”

“You asked me a question-“

“Shut! Up! Let me think… let me…” Jason stretches until he’s groaning in effort, but he still can’t reach his feet. “I’m going to set off a flashbang,” he warns. “I need you to tell me what color this water is. Don’t ask why. Just do it. Ready?”

Tim just nods once and then blinks slowly; their dominos and specialized lenses will help keep the flashbang from outright blinding them.

“On three,” Jason says. “One, two, three.”

It takes a few seconds for the light to fade.

“What color?” Jason demands.

“Looked sort of limey to me,” Tim replies softly.

“More yellow or more green,” Jason presses, because he’s already decided what color it is, but he needs a second opinion.

“I don’t know.” Tim’s slurring now. “Green?”

“You asking me or tell me?”

“Green.”

Jason nods. “You know how Bruce and Damian are way into that mind over matter stuff and your mind is your most powerful weapon philosophies?”

“Sure.”

“I don’t think I can get us out of this, but I think I can get us to higher ground,” Jason says.

“How?” Tim’s voice is fading. “You’re pinned, and I’m shishqebap.”

“You trust me, baby bird?” Jason asks after a few seconds.

“Sure,” Tim replies. “Not like I have much of a choice.”

“Seriously, do you trust me? Because this is either going to work or I’m going to kill you. I’m not joking.”

Tim picks his head up to look at Jason. “Sure, Jay, I trust you.”

Jason grins. “Gonna have to do me a favor, Replacement. I know you got more glowsticks and emergency flares; can you turn them all green?”

“Sure.”

“And I need some of that water; I can’t reach.”

Tim frowns. “You get hit in the head harder than me?”

“Hope not.” Jason holds his closer hand out. “Don’t need much water, just enough for a good swallow.”

Tim winds up pulling one glove off and filling it before passing it over. Flares, glow sticks, and emergency dive lights get switched to green, and then Tim lies back down breathing hard, exhausted.

“The mind’s a powerful thing,” Jason says more to himself than Tim who’s now shivering and making pathetic ripples in the water.

“What are you doing?” Tim whispers.

“Dick and I found a reverse Lazarus Pit a while back,” Jason explains. “A few blocks from here, actually. Didn’t have all the crazy in it yet, but it seems like the crazy finally seeped in. I’m thinking that I take a little dip and see if that gives me enough homicidal rage to get us in a better spot.”

Despite the green light, Jason sees Tim pale.

“Won’t that kill you?”

“Nah, Pits are for the dead and dying, but I’ve already been in one, so it won’t kill me. Loophole. Had to set the mood of course, you know? Get me in that mindset.” Jason laughs nervously and then inhales deeply.

“Why can’t I just… sit in it?” Tim asks. “The Lazarus Pit?”

“Do you want to catch the crazy?” Jason asks. “And by crazy, I mean Pit Rage.”

“Well, not really, but-’

“Look, getting dipped in one of these things is the ultimate fight or flight response, and you doing either of those things will bleed you out in seconds. Let’s leave the massive adrenaline rush to me.” Jason smirks. “Bottoms up.” He downs the water in the glove.

Tim watches Jason plant his palms against the wall and push. At first nothing happens, but then Jason starts to grunt, and the wall starts to move. There’s a green haze around Jason’s eyes, and then the entire structure gets pushed up and over. It lands with a crash, and Jason stands up, breathing hard and growling.

Tim doesn’t have the energy to even try and snap Jason out of his stupor; Jason’s either going to kill him or get them out of this. Tim closes his eyes.

“Baby,” Jason hisses. “Made you flinch.” There’s a hand on Tim’s shoulder that’s too much and then it softens. “Make sure you don’t bite your tongue, baby bird. This might sting.”

Jason gets a good grip on the rebar beneath Tim’s side and then tugs; the metal snaps, and Tim blacks out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> V will let those detectives out there puzzle out who's next.
> 
> Thank you everyone who left kudos and reviewed! They're treasured and appreciated.


	3. Own Strength

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A sort of sequel to “Important Enough” and “Afraid of Doing.”

**Own Strength**

_Sometimes you don’t realize your own strength until you come face to face with your greatest weakness. –Susan Gale_

Red Hood’s heel catches a patch of ice on the deck of _The Puffin IV_ , and he goes down into an impromptu split quick enough that it gives Penguin’s thugs a reason to pause. They’re clearly expecting Gotham’s most-violent vigilante to drop his guns and clutch his crotch, but Jason’s warmed up enough that he simply cheats his front split with un-squared hips, his back foot bent sideways, and keeps firing without missing a beat.

“Nightwing would be appalled at your form,” Robin scoffs from where he’s hurling throwing stars against frosted ropes to drop crates onto the deck or ricochet off metal support beams and doorways to incapacitate the bad guys.

Red Hood has seen Damian almost eat shit on an iced over rooftop more than once when he didn’t think anyone was looking, so it’s understandable why he’s going for “appalling form” rather than “appalling balance.”

“Happy?” Jason snaps once both legs are straight and he’s squared his hips.

Both arms remain raised as he continues to fire off rubber bullets as fast as his guns will allow. Cold seawater is already seeping through his pants, and Jason silently thanks himself for the foresight to wear a thin wetsuit underneath his usual armor. It won’t keep him warm and dry forever, but it’s better than nothing, especially given how much colder it is out in the open water rather than docked in the bay.

“Much better,” Robin observes. “But there’s still room for improvement.”

“Always a critic,” Hood mutters.

Robin’s face is red and wind burned. He’s got his hood up, but that doesn’t change the fact that the tips of his hair are slowly icing over. That, and no matter what he does, Robin can’t stop his red nose from running. Wind continues to pull at Robin’s cape, and waves laced with slush crash against the side of the ship. Red Hood swears loudly when one wave breaks against the side of the hull and spills onto the deck.

“Shit, that’s cold!”

Robin just snickers and backflips himself onto a stack of crates for a higher vantage point. He stands, pulls his katana, and Red Hood can physically see Penguin’s goons rethink attacking the kid who’s been thoroughly kicking their asses for the past fifteen minutes in the middle of a freaking snowstorm and doesn’t show any sign of slowing down or being affected by the cold, and who now has a sword in hand.

“Yield!” Robin shouts, and Red Hood stops firing just long enough to see more than a few people actually lower their weapons, kneel down, and put their hands behind their head.

“Smart move!” Red Hood calls as he holsters one gun, reloads the second, and then goes for one of his packets of zip ties.

Penguin had literally jumped ship when _The Puffin IV_ had started moving. Batman went after him, and Jason wonders who Batman meant to leave in charge when he left Red Hood and Robin to go after the hired help. Jason and Damian could easily be meant to be babysitting the other and making sure no one gets killed or maimed too badly. It’s clear that Robin thinks he’s in charge, and Hood isn’t about to argue; it’s cold as shit out in the open water, and despite his helmet, his nose is cold. Sleet’s sipping down the back of his neck, and it’s only the wetsuit sparing him from getting colder and damper than he already is.

“Let’s wrap this up,” Red Hood says as he and Robin finish trying up the stragglers.

The sky’s almost black, and the sleet is only getting worse. Jason doesn’t miss Robin wiping his nose on his sleeve, pulling his hood further up his head, and huddling in his cape before taking a step forward.

Robin frowns at a man in a white and black cap. “Weren’t you the captain?” he demands.

“Sure was.”

“… then who’s steering the vessel?”

Red Hood’s eyes widen. “Oh, fu-”

The ship stops, or, rather, it hits something hard and big enough to stop _it_. Metal groans. Bodies go flying, sliding, and sailing across the deck. Robin winds up flipping himself onto the railing to keep himself from being run over by a pile of unsecured cargo. He goes sliding quite a few feet, balanced as can be, and stops just in time to see Red Hood run into the railing. Red Hood grabs onto the railing, flips over it, and hangs on.

“Since when does Gotham have _icebergs_?” Red Hood demands as he looks down past his boots to the broken side of the ship and massive slab of ice stabbing into it.

Robin shakes his head and stands up straight. “We don’t. Even in the middle of winter it’s still too warm-”

Robin grunts when something clips him in the shoulder. He does go fully overboard, and Red Hood slaps an emergency beacon onto the sinking ship before planting both feet against the icy metal, bending his knees, and letting go. He gets a good enough kickoff to mostly direct himself down to where there’s a patch of broken ice where Robin had hit. He knows Damian either had cold shock response beaten or trained out of him, but that doesn’t change the fact that the human body can only take so much.

Red Hood gasps when he hits the water; his helmet is fully waterproof which means he doesn’t suck in a lungful of water, but any bare skin instantly starts to burn from the chill. He gets sucked down by a current, and he can only hope he’s following Robin as he gets dragged into a makeshift tunnel that seems to run inside the iceberg that hit the ship. Jason gets flipped head over heels, run into the rugged walls, and then the pull of water on his body abruptly stops. Red Hood floats out of the tunnel into a massive underwater ice cavern where the current is calm.

Robin’s clinging to the back of a polar bear, and Red Hood sees him jam something into the bear’s neck before something clamps over his head and squeezes. There’s pressure, pain, and Jason can hear his helmet actually crack when a second polar bear gets his head in its massive jaws and bites down. There’s a rush of cold water, most of which goes down Red Hood’s nose, and then… nothing.

Red Hood wakes up when something starts to tremble against his front. He forces his eyes open and quickly pieces together what happened while he starts to cough on the frigid air. Robin’s curled up into a ball against his front, cape off and pulled around the pair of them to keep them off the stretch of bare ice they’re lying on, edges pulled around them both like a blanket. Jason’s got the hood of the cape pulled up around his naked head, and he’s alarmed by how barely warm the material is until he realizes Robin’s uniform is torn; no doubt one of the bears wrecked the coils that’s supposed to be able to heat the cape as well as tear the protective material. The wounds are superficial beneath the torn cloth, bleeding sluggishly, and Jason forces himself to sit up on one elbow so that he can pull Robin closer; they’re both soaking wet, Jason’s hair and clothes are already starting to freeze, and Damian’s shaking from head to to.

“H-hey. Wake up.”

Robin shifts and tries to burrow closer. “‘m awake.”

“You okay?”

Damian coughs wetly and pulls his knees up to his chest in a feeble attempt to keep warm. “I believe I’ve inhaled some water,” he murmurs.

Jason clears his throat and flinches when he breathes through his nose and feels everything freeze up. “You and me both,” he says as he sits up, folds his legs, and then pulls Damian into his lap and pulls the cape closed. He expects Damian to fight, to squirm and protest being treated like a child, but he simply rests his head against Jason’s shoulder without a word. That scares Jason more than he would like to admit, and even though Jason knows it won’t do much to keep either of them warm given how fast their wet clothes are leeching heat from their bodies, he tries his best to cover Damian with the ends of the cape. Jason’s uniform isn’t meant to keep him alive in artic conditions, and Robin’s uniform is all but useless given all the claw and teeth marks in it.

“Father will be here soon,” Robin says quietly, and Jason wraps his arms around him beneath the cape; Damian’s trembling, but Jason can already feel the strength fading by the second.

Damian can act tough all he wants to, but that doesn’t change the fact that he’s the smallest body in the ice cavern, and even though he and Jason are both soaked, he’s going to start going hypothermic before Jason.

“What happened to the bears?” Jason asks while his own teeth begin to chatter.

“Mild sedative,” Damian replies. His voice is gentle, almost dreamy. He’s not shaking anymore, and Jason’s extremities are already starting to go numb.

“You know what?” Jason says five minutes later. “I waited for Batman to come and save me once, and he didn’t make it in time.” There’s no digital clock ticking down this time, not a literal one, but Jason knows every second he and Damian are stuck in their wet clothes where it’s just below freezing is the same as if they were sitting with a bomb. “We’re saving ourselves this time, Robin.”

Damian can’t stand. He’s stiff-limbed, blue-lipped, and just clinging to consciousness. Jason holds him in a princess carry and makes sure the cape is closed down his front to keep Damian covered. Jason keeps the hood on and gets one of Damian’s wrists free; apparently his scanner won’t map out the cavern as far as Jason needs it to, but he picks a passage that’s human-size and manages fifteen feet before he finds the tunnel collapsed.

“Okay,” Jason says as he drags his finger along the 3-D map to turn it red. “That one is a no-go. Let’s try another one.”

Jason stops at the top of a very, very steep slope. The tunnel curves down into semi-darkness and there’s a chance that it leads down into the water instead of somewhere useful. It’s not Jason’s first choice, but two distant growls makes Jason’s decision for him. He sits down at the top of the slope, makes sure he has a good grip on Damian, and then inches forward. It’s a bit bumpy, but the ice is surprisingly smooth otherwise, and Jason slides down the tunnel until the ground evens out. Momentum eventually gives out, and Jason stands carefully. He continues down the passage and then stops short when the tunnel dips again.

“You’ve got to be _fucking_ kidding me,” Jason bites out as he rounds a corner and sees green dancing on the icy walls.

The tunnel has widened into something less than claustrophobic, and Jason’s path dips down into green liquid as far as the eye can see. It’s bubbling gently, and Jason would find the sound almost smoothing and sight almost beautiful if he didn’t recognize a Lazarus Pit for what it was.

“Don’t,” Damian whispers as Jason heads for the water.

“We have polar bears behind us, I for one don’t know where Mr. Freeze is, and my hands are going numb. You have a Plan B?”

“Are you stupid?” Robin snarls with more energy than Jason though him capable.

“I’ve been told I have the capacity for impulsive decisions.” Jason pauses at the edge of the water.

Damian’s huffing from the effort of speaking. “Are you daft? You’ll die!”

Jason starts to laugh. “Been there. Done that.” He grins and feels his lips tremble around his teeth. “Considering you grew up literally above one of these things, I’m surprised you’re this ignorant. I thought Mommy would have given you an in-depth lecture.”

“About what? That a Lazarus Pit is only useful for the dead and dying, neither of which you are?”

Jason steps into the water. Water starts seeping into his boots almost immediately. “The Pit’s only good for the dead and dying, unless you’re me.”

“Which means what, exactly?” Damian grunts. “Previously acquainted?”

“Bingo, Baby Bat.” Jason smirks. “I’ve been in the Pit before; it’s a loophole.”

“You’re a fruit loop.”

Jason gets waist deep and has to slow down when water pulls at his clothes.

“This is Schrodinger’s Pit,” Jason mutters. “This is going to simultaneously kill me with hypothermia and bring me back to life.”

He keeps Damian above water; it might be above freezing, but it’s still leeching whatever heat Jason has left in his body. He exits after ten minutes of walking only to be faced with a ninety degree angle out of the tunnel. Jason’s soaking wet and he can’t feel his toes any more. That’s definitely not a good sign.

“Hang on,” Jason says through his chattering teeth as he attaches the end of one grapple to Damian and then makes sure to attach it to his own belt before firing.

They land in a heap when Jason’s legs give out. The cavern is small and dark, and Jason removes Damian’s cape and does his best to bundle Robin in it; he’s been quiet, and he’s stopped shivering. Jason isn’t even sure the cape is still warm, but it’s better than nothing. He curls up around Damian, hugs him close to his chest, and just breathes. No amount of calling for help or explosives is going to get them out of this; he and Damian might be trained, but the human body can still only take so much, and any positive bodily effects from the Pit are going to wear off as water drips off Jason, taking precious heat and strength from him.

“Dad’s on his way,” Jason tells Damian. “He’ll come for you.”

Damian twitches. “Us.” It’s barely a rasp, but Jason still hears it.

“Sure, us.”

Jason starts to doze and wakes up with a start when he hears ice crack. He’s still got Damian wrapped up in his arms, but his legs are useless, and his arms aren’t any better. The Batsub rears up in the gloom, lights blinding in the gloom, and Jason can hear the airlock hiss when the hatch opens.

He can’t speak, his lips are too cold, but Jason just manages to nudge Damian forward in an almost offering to Batman who immediately takes him to the sub. Jason nods off shortly after and comes to in the sub, wrapped in Batman’s cape. Damian’s in Batman’s lap, wrapped in his own cape like some type of perverse burrito.

“You’re going to be alright.”

Jason feels a hand on his shoulder through the cape. He’s shivering from head to toe and his hands and feet are on fire. At least he can move his mouth, but not well given how hard his teeth are chattering.

“Y-you have to b-blow that u-up,” Jason tries to get out, but he thinks he slurs most of it. He keeps stuttering around the letter p until Batman roots around and produces a little notepad and pen. Jason’s handwriting is usually pretty good, but he can’t get a good grip on the pen, and his wrist still feels frozen in place. Batman, however, must have experience with bad handwriting, because he looks at Jason’s messy “Lazarus Pit in iceberg” and simply nods.

“I’ll be sure to take care of it.”

Jason leans his head against the seatback and sighs in relief; it’s warm to the touch.

“How did you know there was one there?” Batman asks.

Jason just lifts one trembling hand and mimes walking with two fingers. “T-took a dip.”

“And Robin?”

Jason shakes his head. “Princess carry.” He smiles. “Lightweight.”

Damian just moans against Batman’s front and makes a halfhearted attempt to swat at Jason.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's all V has the moment, but maybe she'll come back and add more one day.

**Author's Note:**

> V once wore a domino mask to a water park for an anime convention: she used the same lace front tape for 2 days straight and didn't lose any stickiness.


End file.
